Decker Parkes
by Mattwragg
Summary: Never seen, only documented, Decker Parkes in the eyes of the public he’s a terrorist, part of the rebellious American militia,commonly known as the terrorist group, the NSF, but anyone who stumbled on his data cubes would discover his double life.
1. Chapter 1

Never seen, only documented. In the eyes of the public Decker Parkes is a terrorist, part of the rebellious American armed militia the National Secessionist Forces, commonly known as the terrorist group the NSF. Although anyone who stumbled across his data cubes would realise his never ending struggle, a struggle which would force him across the face of America and over the ocean. Aiding the NSF was his job, trying to stay alive, well that was not a choice.

Constantly on the run. Nowhere to hide. Hunted by an endless pursuer. An outlaw. A fugitive. An enemy of the state. The international anti-terrorist agency formed by the United Nations, known as UNATCO, vigorously prowling the landscape, picking out the little, insignificant, irritating, rebels from the territory. More concerned in putting the past behind him, Decker has ended up, down a hole that is too deep and too steep to climb out of.

Chapter 1

The coffee filled mug sat silently on top of the scratched and dented table surface, it had gone cold, left there forgotten in the anxious waiting of its consumer, Decker Parkes. Decker was a Northern Secessionist Forces (NSF) member; he had been for years and now an ageing man, just pushing middle age. He was seen as a veteran by the newer NSF recruits who would look to him for inspiration since he had been around when the NSF was formed. He had even met one of the founding members, the NSF general Leon Woods; even now he could still recall the powerful speeches General Woods used to make. Decker paced back and forth in his bedroom, mind wondering, awaiting the precious call from his contact. He needed to get out, to escape the United States with his two close friends Wayne and Erin.

Decker sat quietly at his small desk by the window of his rented apartment on 53rd Street near the Brooklyn-Queens Expressway, with a toothbrush crammed in to his cheek and mouth full of foam. He sat and stared impatiently at the flat computer monitor, the inbox to his e-mail account was empty. He looked to the side of the screen and stared outside through the thin dirty brown net curtains that covered the windows; the light from the outside street lamps illuminated the bedroom in a murky yellow glow. Decker always had the bedroom lights off so no one looking in knew he was home, after all he was a marked man, at any moment a team of UNATCO troopers and M.i.B.'s (Men In Black) could kick the door through and splatter the contents of his head up the walls. Anyway it felt safer in the shadows.

Decker picked up the small glass and lazily spat the frothy toothpaste in to the bottom, "_Ahh_… _shit_" Decker cursed silently, he had spat into the clean glass which held the water he was going to use to swill his mouth with. Decker picked up the small facial towel and threw in over his shoulder as he carried the two glasses to the sink in the bathroom. He hated using glasses when brushing his teeth; it was a dirty habit he picked up from darting about all over the place with the NSF.

Decker watched the watery, saliva filled mixture get sucked down the plughole as he poured it into the sink. He turned on one of the water taps, it did not matter which one, hot or cold, for the water heater had broke down months ago and the landlord was too "economical" to fix it. Decker swilled out the glass and filled it with the cold water. He drank some sloshing the water into both cheeks with his tongue before gargling it and spitting the water into the bowl of the sink. He washed his hands and splashed his face then looked into the mirror of the bathroom cabinet.

His face looked washed out, his eyes had small dark rings underneath them and the crow's feet had spread up to his temples. Decker had not shaved for three days and his neck and chin felt prickly. Decker felt he was aging by the minute through the stress of evading the authorities for many years, his hair had gone thin and was turning grey. Recently he seemed to feel tired more than usual needing to take a nap now and then. He hated the thought of becoming old to him it was like returning to a state of infancy.

Decker stared into the mirror, his eyes lost focus as he started to daydream, he had been awake for at least 36 hours, and he needed sleep, desperately. Decker threw himself on his lumpy mattress rolled onto his side and lay there watching the computer monitor. He slipped one hand underneath his pillow and pushed it up slightly to his head. Decker's eyelids began to slip over his eyes. The last thing he did before his brain went into sleep mode was check that his gun was one his bedside table. Decker breathed out making a _hum _sound as he let his body relax and collapse into the mattress. _Sleep… finally…_

"ALL ABOARD!"

Decker ran down the gangplank and slipped onto one of the side seats. The other NSF activists scuttled on armed with the shortened assault rifles, sawn-off shotguns, and pistols. The last one onboard retrieved the rope that tied the boat to the jetty. The engine was ignited and the rotor blades span into action. The NSF onshore turned and made their way up the north dock, carrying cases of rockets and rocker launchers; one person was carrying a GEP gun over his shoulder. The boat pulled away and quickly headed towards the Manhattan skyline, towards their destination, Castle Clinton.

Castle Clinton was where they would unload the Ambrosia vaccine and take it to LaGuardia airport hangers. It would then be loaded and taken to Hong Kong, where a man of outstanding scientific knowledge named Tracer Tong could break down the elements of the vaccine for reproduction and correct redistribution.

The speedboat cut silently through the dark Manhattan waters. Decker sat listening to the babbling churn of the rotor blades in the water. In front of him under a blanket of tarpaulin were the precious Ambrosia canisters. Ambrosia was vaccine for the Grey Death, the super-plague that was tearing over the continents. UNATCO, the United Nations Anti-Terrorist Coalition was responsible for the Ambrosia vaccinations but it seemed that only the wealthier victims were getting the treatment. That was why the NSF were hijacking the shipment; to get it to the people who needed it most.

Decker watched Liberty Island get smaller; the moon was starting to rise high in the cold night air. Decker breathed a sigh of relief the Coast Guard was not pursuing. He sat back against the side of the boat, the other NSF rebels took off there visors exposing their reddened, adrenaline filled faces to the early night air.

Decker had just set up the quickest security system he had every performed. He arrived onshore with one of the New York NSF leader, Colonel Leo Gold of Special Operations, with his "bag of tricks" and was taken straight to the Statue. The rebels had gone in just as the sunset but bumped into a patrolling guard who notified UNATCO. A fire fight had broken out as they unloaded the Ambrosia shipment from the barge. The NSF managed to capture a UNATCO mechanically augmented agent, Gunther Hermann and held him hostage giving the NSF enough time to escape, and Decker enough time to set up a patchy security system.

"Hurry up Decker," whispered the anxious rebel. Decker could feel the pressure building up as they all stood over his shoulder, breathing down his neck constantly. Decker wiped the small bead of sweat from his itching eyebrow. He let out a huffed breath and stared into the blackened heart of the automated security gun turret. Decker turned the small cap heads of the two torches that were on the side of his magnifying glasses and held the small screwdriver in his shaky hand.

"Hey! Don't rush the man, Decker you take as long as you want, just as long as it isn't long enough for a UNATCO team to be up your ass before you finish." Leo Gold, the NSF leader, said pushing the NSF rebels away from Decker.

"I've…nearly finished sir." Decker replied making the final connections to the automated gun turret.

"All done and dusted." Decker exclaimed clapping his hands together "Now I've just got to check the connections are all working." Decker shut the small panel and swivelled on his chair around to his small laptop computer that was linked to the turret and hooked into the security system. Decker typed furiously on the small compact keyboard. He inputted various commands and the turret jerked and moved in reply causing the NSF members watching him to step back with caution. Colonel Leo Gold laughed heartily and walked over patting Decker on the back.

"Still got the magic touch," he whispered in his left ear. The colonel looked over his shoulder and grunted with disgust.

"You two!" Colonel Gold snapped at two NSF members sitting down on the floor relaxing, they shot up and stood straight, saluting the colonel.

"Take the turret upstairs and attached it to the ceiling" he ordered. Decker unplugged his laptop and folded it into his small satchel.

"YES SIR!" the two men replied simultaneously, they both ran over to the worktop Decker was using and picked the long turret off the table.

"Be careful" Decker said and placed a holder bag full of tools on top of the turret. Both men disappeared up the wide concrete stairs. Colonel Gold walked over to Decker who started to pack his equipment into two black leather sports bags.

"You have done a lot over the years for the cause, Decker. We could still use a man like you" Leo said standing behind him. Decker turned around and got up from his squatted position, his left kneecap popped as he straightened up.

"I've told you, after today I quit and disappear, sir." Decker stared meaningfully into the colonel eyes, who looked away sorrowfully.

"You will be missed Mr Parkes. You know who will miss you most, Decker. She will be sad to hear you're leaving," said the colonel.

"Well she cannot find out," Decker said looking away.

"Erin will find out, sooner than later, Decker. You know you're like a father figure to her," Colonel Gold walked away and left Decker to finish gathering his belongings. The pounding sound of the air gun was heard faintly from upstairs as the two NSF members secured the turret to the ceiling. Decker ran through his tasks in his head, the entrance defence had been established, interior defences were up and running, most of the security surveillance cameras were working (minus a few that had some interference effecting the video transmission) and identifying the correct enemy, the security bot was patrolling the set perimeter. Most of the tasks were complete, now all Decker needed to do was to re-check that the whole system was still connected with no bugs. If something went wrong he would not be there to repair it. _Oh yes,_ Decker remembered. He ran up the stairs and into the pedestal of the statue.

"Ray! Hey Ray!" Decker chased after the group of men patrolling the corridor. One stopped and turned around.

"You after me?" Ray asked puzzled.

"Here's the password for the security system, could you make sure the guy on surveillance duty with you, gets it too. Oh and keep an eye on the mech, don't want him escaping." Decker said in between breaths as he passed over the small datacube.

"Yeah, Ok bud. You off now?" Ray asked. Decker nodded. "I'll hopefully see ya later then."

Decker carried on down the corridor and watched the sun start to set in the burning orange sky. He could see the NSF unloading the Ambrosia from the captured delivery barge. There were three speedboats bobbing on the waves far in the distance, all guarded by armed men. Decker turned and walked back down to the lower lobby of the base of the statue. He walked across the bustling floor and located the colonel in the small room that the NSF were using to hold their prisoner.

Colonel Gold was standing in front of the window of the cell, his hands in his long coat pockets. He stood staring at the prisoner Gunther Hermann. Gunther was a mechanically augmented UNATCO agent. His body was his weapon, arms, legs and even his head had chrome plating protruding out of his skin. His eyes were augmented too; he had two ocular augmentations inserted into his eye sockets, which left him with two perfectly round red glowing domes protruding from his face. All these implants had left his skin looking an unhealthy grey colour and his face looking bitter and stern. Gunther stood firmly staring back through his head-light eyes, breathing in slowly through his barrel of a chest. The six foot seven agent said nothing and did nothing just simply awaited his rescue.

Decker approached the colonel and was about to spout off a lot of technical reports but Leo spoke first.

"Look at him, the UNATCO mech." Leo said "Addicted to improving himself…no mutilating his body so he is a better killing machine. All he is doing is killing himself inside." Decker stood behind the colonel as if to shield himself from the mechs stare.

"It's a shame what some humans are driven to, because of their insecurities." Leo looked at his small wristwatch. "It's time for the shipments to get on their way and time for you to go." Decker nodded, threw his satchel over his shoulder and patted Leo's shoulder.

"I'll see you around some time." Decker said then proceeded out of the holding room and to the entrance. _Time to go_ Decker thought _Time to go…_

Battery Park was fast approaching on the horizon as the speedboat Decker rode in followed the other two boats in the convoy. "Three minutes." came a call from the front of the boat. The eight men in the boat checked and loaded their sawn-offs and stolen UNATCO standard issue assault rifles, then pulled down their masks and visors. Decker pulled out a small revolver, which he wore in his chest gun holster. One off the NSF members looked at Decker.

"Want something a bit more powerful, sir." he said laughing gently under his mask.

"This will be sufficient, private." Decker replied looking back at him coldly. The boat pulled up to the dock, the other two vessels were already being unloaded. The NSF disembarked quickly and fetched the small baggage trolleys that had probably stolen from an airport.

The Ambrosia canisters were wheeled down a small dark passageway to an old storage hut. The NSF waited outside in a large group, Decker stood near the back holding his precious satchel close to his heart.

"Shall I do the honours?" one of the rebels asked.

"Jus' hurry up you prick! Freezing my balls off standing out here!" shouted the other, which caused a few laughs and groans from the others. The one standing by the wall turned a key and unlocked what looked like a fuse box. Inside was a keypad 9…1…8…3… was punched in and the nearby soda machine slide open. One by one the men all disappeared down the newly opened passageway. Decker stood there momentarily staring deep into the black void where the voices were trailed in the distance. Then he entered and descended down the cold, dark staircase. From now on he was a fugitive, on the run from UNATCO.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Droplets of rain fanned outwards towards the sides of the windscreen as the taxicab hushed smoothly down the expressway. Erin Todd and Wayne Young sat stiffly in the backseats, not speaking, too sick with niggling anxiety. Young, who sitting in the rear left seat, stared at the back of the taxi driver's head, counting the flakes of dandruff. Young's hands rested between his legs that jiggled up and down as he fidgeted tensely. Erin stared out of the right side window at the other cars that overtook on the slick yellow-lit road surface. In the distance the tall diamond tipped skyscrapers stood firmly, stabbing into the blanket of rain clouds with their sharp spires. Erin's mind was racing as she half listened to the blurb of music that pumped out of the driver's radio. The drive was taking longer than expected.

The taxicab followed the curve of the multi-lane carriageway, hugging to the inside of the concrete separator that was pin cushioned with Y-shaped road lamps. They were heading into the heart of Manhattan. The taxicab took the next turn off the expressway and drove down into the depths of the frenzied streets.

The cab passed a mass group rioting civilians who were destroying a huge department store. Flames licked up the frames of the huge floor-to-ceiling display windows as the silhouettes of at least fifty people danced insanely in the glow. The store's windows had been ram-raided; the vehicle's rear end was still sticking out of one of the windows where it had gotten stuck in one of the window displays. The overhanging concrete canopy that extended out of the side of the building was scarred with streaky black soot from the fires. A thick plume of toxic dirty brown smoke rolled out from underneath it like the inside of a tidal wave. A web of stringy smoke poured out of the glowing window frames of the shop front and crawled up the tall building side like a mass of tree roots. The smoke circulated the tall building, winding around like a constricting snake, as the strong winds that built up between the buildings ejected them into the sky. The potent smell of the burning store filtered through the air conditioning of the taxicab as the driver carried on past the carnage. He cursed as the paper-thin ash that blew across the street covered the windscreen in a blizzard of grey spots.

The city of New York was spiralling into deeper chaos. Walton Simons, Head of FEMA (Federal Emergency Management Agency) had taken control over UNATCO and declared martial law, effectively blocking off all exits in and out of New York, public schools and services had been cancelled until things calmed down. The public taxis had completely stopped but civilians who were trying to make a few quick credits had converted their vehicles into civil-taxis taking their place, not exactly trust worthy but nothing was.

"You can stop here." Young said breaking the uneasy silence.

"Okay buddy." the driver replied pulling into the curb. The car slowed to a stop, Erin opened the door and stepped out into the wet night air, she turned and faced the taxi to see Young paying the driver. He got out of the opposite door and the taxi pulled away wheels splattering in the muddy pothole puddles. Erin's face had lost its usual rosiness; fear was blanketing her usual bubbly nature. Young gave her a half-hearted smile and winked; she replied with a shaky smile and crossed over to the pavement embedding her head into Young's chest.

"It'll be fine, once we escape the States." Young reassured her as they embraced on the sidewalk. He kissed her on her forehead and pulled her up off the curb.

"We must get going and find Decker, we're behind schedule."

Erin slipped her arm under Young's arm and they walked linked together down the darkened rain drenched streets. Young placed one hand in his long coat pocket and grasped his sidearm.

The expressway buzzed in the distance like a restless hive as the two lovers passed the rows of tall corporative skyscrapers and financial buildings. The clouds of smoke from fires spread across the skyline of the city boundaries in widening diagonal columns. The rain started again, in downpours of frequent showers, the excess water making the air feel colder than it was. Erin still holding on to Young whispered, "They'll eventually find us. They found the commanders; they won't give up until they find us all."

Young stopped and looked deeply into her hazel eyes, hiding behind her stringy unwashed fringe. He recalled their first meeting and how he used his cheesy charm to try and chat her up.

"Decker will make sure our tracks are well covered. There's no way they can locate us. Remember we know the system as well as anyone else. We worked for them after all." He held her tight at arms length "We'll be safe." Young said reassuringly.

"I hope your right, I really do…" she whispered. The heavens opened once again, pounding the earth with thousands of raindrops. The rain bombarded the pavement, pattering like hundreds of drumming unsynchronised footsteps. Droplets bounced off Young's waterproof brown coat racing and twisting down his broad shoulders.

They were now on the corner of 51st Street; it was surprisingly quiet and empty. Many victims of the Grey Death were confined to their apartments, barricaded in by FEMA and UNATCO squadrons. Whole businesses had shut down due to the lack of healthy workers. It was one depression after the other.

A few burnt out vehicles lay across the road; some had banked up onto the curb and were sprawled out on the cracked pavement. As Young walked images of the fierce fighting between UNATCO and the NSF flashed into his mind. He had seen many brave men, many friends, die in front of him. He had witnessed the slaughter of the NSF in Hell's Kitchen. He, himself only just about escaped from the UNATCO assault, escaping through one of the empty storage warehouses in the Warehouse District. Many of the NSF were forced to fight street to street taking refuge anywhere, apartment blocks, local shops, hotels, anywhere they could find.

UNATCO had sent in their "peacekeepers", which included the mechanically augmented agents. Young had witnessed one of these "mechs" operate, how it relentlessly pounded the NSF with awesome power. The "mech" Young had seen was more like a machine limited with organic parts than a human being augmented with mechanisms. What was once a MAN, had now become an IT, stomping around under a mass of mechanical augmentations, its legs were probably only increased to carry the huge bulk of machine parts. It seemed to have let go of its human side as it eliminated the NSF troopers as if the were vermin. Young shook head free of the horrendous images he had locked away and crossed the road.

Whilst Decker had to construct all the security grids for the NSF bases like the Osgood and Sons Imports Warehouse and NSF Headquarters in Hell's Kitchen, Young was out in the field with Commander Grimaldi's men trying to give the NSF some more time to get the Ambrosia vaccine safely out of New York City and the U.S. Decker had not witnessed any of the violence. He had seen nothing…

The smell was repulsive. Deep down in the dank, dark, dismal sewage drains, Decker worked quickly on the laser grid motion detectors. The drips from the condensation echoed around the algae covered brick tunnels. Decker felt safe even though other people would feel alone and vulnerable in the darkness. He could hear the other NSF members down in the distance, installing the cameras, drilling holes in the old discoloured bricks. With the overhead lantern directly above him, glaring bright and white, Decker clipped the thin plastic wires to the pointing between the brickwork and connected them to the electronic control panel.

Decker walked down the long circular sewers, checking that all the surveillance cameras and autonomous defence turrets were in their correct positions. As he walked he sloshed through the small stream of stagnant water that had pooled together in the centre of the tubular sewage. The other NSF members were busy rolling out metres of wire on small drums. They were dressed in long black mackintoshes and wore shiny black waterproof waders underneath.

The small lights that ran along the roof of the circular sewage drain flickered on and off, years of algae and waste had stained them a dirty brown so the light was dim. Decker carried his small laptop under his arm and passed the working NSF members, descending the small grimy maintenance ladder. There was an NSF member laying some bricks to seal the underground entrance. Decker smiled to him as his feet touched the ground.

"Just doing some final security checks." Decker said to the squatting man.

"Okay. Just hurry up or I'll have to brick you in down here." He chuckled. Decker was in a grumpy mood and smiled half heartily; he said an insult directed the man, quietly inside his head. Decker carefully stepped over the knee-high wall and carried on around the cesspool. There was a massive pipe protruding out of the far wall it snaked its way across the room. Decker climbed the other maintenance ladder and made sure the sewer drain cover was immovable. He then walked backed and checked that the underwater pipe grate cover was locked. Everything was secure.

"Could you pass this on to Commander Frase when you see him please?" Decker asked politely, but still in a foul mood.

"Yeah, whatever, just drop it by the ladder." The man said not even looking up at Decker. Decker sucked the stale air through his tightly clenched teeth. He was not angry with the workers who were helping him set up security, he was angry with JoJo Fine.

JoJo was a NSF colonel. Decker always wondered how, the man was a street punk with an "I'm a badass" attitude. He was a pimp-gangster in Hell's Kitchen, tattooed and pierced all over his body. Decker knew the NSF only hired him because if need be, he could get things done, he was connected to the "right" people. The NSF had put him in charge of the National Secessionist Forces around the Lower East Side of the Manhattan area. This gave him a lot of responsibility but that did not stop him from being one of the biggest, arrogant, bastards Decker had met. JoJo was not bothered about defence and security; he just wanted to kill UNATCO troopers so he could get on with pimpin' sexy ladies and getting high off Zyme. He was a liability.

Decker left the small datacube with the bricklaying worker who was now laying a new level. The message on the datacube read:

"Commander Frase:

I've completed the initialisation of the warehouse perimeter security grids with the login and password you requested; these codes will work for both grids. I'll set up internal warehouse security measures next - I don't really trust JoJo to do the job right."

The fresh air was a blessing to Decker's lungs as he re-entered the Osgood And Sons Imports Warehouse via the basement. Decker threw off his thick red rubber gloves and unbuttoned the top of his rubber waders letting them drop around his ankles. Decker slipped out off his waterproof boots and stood on the cold floor in his grey woolly socks. He folded the pile of clothes over his arm and proceeded to the canteen. The mobile home sized generator that dominated the base of the warehouse hummed noisily. There were a few thunderous crackles as small bolts of electricity jumped across the electrodes that sat on the top of two spires.

Decker strolled into the small canteen next to the toilets, there were four picnic tables centred in the room, on one table sat a NSF member with his back to Decker. He was feeding two black muscular Doberman dogs. The dogs sat obediently as their master dangled rashers of bacon in front of their salivating mouths. One of the Dobermans whimpered and shuffled closer it was told to sit back down, which it did immediately. The man chuckled in amusement then threw to bacon onto the floor. He sucked the grease from his fingers and swivelled around on the seat.

"Oh hi! I'm Killian, please err…take a seat." He said wiping his hands down his combat trousers. The man was quite short but a stocky build, his sleeves were rolled up showing of a montage of tattoos. The Dobermans lay beside him, their silky black coats shimmering in the overhead lights.

"Been training 'em since they were six weeks old, guard dogs ya see. The other dogs come from a local scrap yard, but these two, they're my own." Decker smiled and sat opposite Killian who carried on eating a bacon and sausage sandwich drenched in brown sauce. This reminded Decker that he had not eaten yet. He looked at the variety of junk food that was displayed in the two vending machines; it was either chocolate bars or a packet of crisps. "A wonderful variety of flavours, for an, "acquired" taste." He thought sarcastically.

"So what d'ya do? You don't look like the "fighting" type" He chuckled heartily "Oh sorry… I don't even know your name yet." Killian laughed again, and then proceeded to bite into the soggy bread, splattering his uniform with splodges of sauce.

"That's because I never told you my name." Decker muttered. He was fatigued and not in the mood to deal with "sloppy" eaters and "killer" dogs.

"I am Decker Parkes. I work with the security team." Decker mumbled watching the blob of sauce collect on the man's chin. Killian sucked the sauce from his bottom lip and used his forearm to wipe his chin.

"Security? Really? Man, rather be out in the field than stuck in places like this. No offence." Killian apologised.

"None take…" Decker was cut off.

"I help with the unloading of equipment and armaments, but also I am called out in the field now and then, I used to be in the United States Army. Are you an ex-service man?" Killian enquired.

"No I err…used to work for…" Decker wavered he could not have said the truth, Majestic Twelve, he felt it more appropriate to lie and say "…a security equipment suppliers."

"Oh…" Killian exclaimed trying to sound interested.

"Yeah, oh…" Decker mumbled. "Want anything?" Decker asked rising from his seat and walking over to the food vending machine.

"Err…No I am okay buddy, just ate." Killian answered. "I think I'll go show the dogs around the place, to get them used to it." Killian rose from his seat and the two Dobermans rose with him. He wrapped the two thick chain leads around his muscular forearms and walked the dogs out of the canteen. "See ya 'round." Killian called as he pulled the dogs back on their leads to slow them to a controlled walking pace.

"Yeah see ya." Decker called back, the chocolate bar fell heavily in machine and popped out onto the small tray. Decker reached down and untangled the chocolate bar and his hand from the annoying flapping guard.

Decker stirred and woke from his nap, his eyes rolled back into position and he repeatedly blinked to remove the sleepy film from his blurry eyes. He stretched his arms back and pushed himself down the small bed, he let out and niggled groan as he got a rush of blood to his head as his muscles re-relaxed. Decker sat up on the bed and rubbed his sore eyes removing the dry flakes that stuck his eyelashes together. He threw his legs off the bed and sat facing the computer, no new messages. Why was it taking so long? Time was precious; Decker knew that Majestic Twelve had known about his involvement with the National Secessionist Forces, The NSF. Time was running out, if only they had not been discovered at the airfield, all three of them, Erin, Wayne, and Decker could have made it out of the country easier, now they were all relying on one man Decker had only met once. A man simply know as Smuggler, known for arms dealing but for the right price he could make "special" arrangements. Although at this very moment, Decker had started doubting if Smuggler would live up to his name.

Decker got up off the bed, walked across the cold carpeted floor and into the bathroom. He lifted the toilet seat up and urinated into the bowel. After flushing the toilet Decker washed his hands and took to staring into the mirror again. He opened the small cabinet door that was by the sink and took out a small white container. He popped off the cap and shook the contents out on to his palm. His heart medication. Carvedilol, it was a beta-blocker, four years ago Decker had been classed with LVD or Left Ventricular Dysfunction.

Decker placed one of the oval tablets on his tongue and swallowed it; he then bent down and sucked the water from the tap spout. He needed to take one tablet everyday, it slowed down his heart, helping it pump more efficiently; meaning the overall circulation of oxygen-rich blood around the body improved. There were though, dramatic side effects such as faintness, weight gain and drowsiness.

Before Decker knew it his head was resting on the keyboard of his personal computer terminal. He never even heard the key turn in the lock of his front door. He never heard the lock click open as the cylindrical bolt retreated into the door. He never even heard the echoing footsteps approach from down the corridor.

The door shuffled open, sticking to the lumpy carpet. Decker had visitors, and he was not even aware.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Three black limousines halted simultaneously outside. Their curved side doors moved up over the roof as six men in camouflaged uniforms got out of each limousine armed with compacted assault rifles and submachine guns. It was the NSF leader, Juan Ivanovich Lebedev's personal escort and close bodyguards. Behind the convoy of limousines a small square transit van pulled up from around the corner. It smoothly stopped beside one of the limousines. Four of the bodyguards from the limousine wearing long black mole skin coats went around the back of the van and opened the two heavy doors. Four more men got out the back of the tan coloured van followed by two men wearing long dark brown leather coats and khaki coloured NSF uniforms. It was Juan Ivanovich Lebedev and his body double.

The men surrounded Lebedev and his double, watching the surrounding buildings, communicating between each other using small earpieces and microphones built into the coats fabric. Lebedev walked stern faced to the entrance of the NSF Headquarters behind his double. The other fourteen men from the limousines saluted Lebedev, both Lebedevs saluted back and quickly disappeared into the building.

There was a contagious buzz of excitement spreading around the Headquarters only Commander Frase was nervous. He was in the men's toilets breathing deeply in and out through his mouth staring into the square mirror, nervously burping silently as his anxiety grew into a nauseous feeling. Frase was starting to think about vomiting, which caused his mouth to salivate in preparation, his stomach churned heavily and he started to heave. He felt stupid getting nervous over not being prepared, but this was Lebedev. Frase had met him before; he had even been to his conferences and spoke to him. He seemed friendly enough but Frase's team was just not ready, the Headquarters was in a diabolical state, security was being set up at this very moment. The stress was eating away at his mind, confusing his usual logical thoughts. His mind was being overloaded with orders and opinions and in the back of his head was the niggling feeling of responsibility.

The commander took a swing from his hip flask feeling a warm sensation as the liquor flowed down his throat; he coughed loosening some phlegm and wiped his wet bottom lip with the sleeve of his uniform. His abdominal muscles contracted as the warm alcohol hit his empty stomach.

Decker walked out of the cubicle and saw Frase standing staring deeply into the sink.

"I was just taking my break." Decker explained but Frase never took any notice, he just stood stooped over the sink, eyes questioning his thoughts. The commander's body lurched, his chest heaved rigidly and he spat into the sink then ran the water tap.

Decker slowly walked up behind him and the commander looked up at Decker's reflection through the mirror. The commander smiled weakly, and blinked his bloodshot eyes rapidly. Decker saw a stress driven alcoholic in front of him. He had watched over the days as the commander had changed. He had become snappy and sour as the day of the shipment hijack approached. This was a man who was responsible for whole squadrons of men. Lives. As he tried to organise the formations of troop positions, information was flooding in about the strength of the UNATCO counter-attacks and advances causing Frase to reconfigure the positions to cope with the brute force of UNATCO.

The smell of alcohol was strong on Frase's breath, the whites of his eyes were a smudgy pink colour with thin red capillaries weaving and intertwining at the sides of his eyeballs. He was not in any condition to see Lebedev. The commander sank to his wobbly knees and squat by the sink. He started to break down and sobbed miserably in his drunken state. The veins at the sides of his temples protruded out of his reddened face as the stress and tension was released with his tears. Decker comforted the younger commander patting and rubbing his back.

"Come on sir, Lebedev is waiting. Clean yourself up and give yourself a few minutes. I'll wait outside." Decker whispered. The commander nodded and sniffed, he suddenly stood up straight and looked at himself in the mirror. He laughed at himself with embarrassment as Decker left the toilet and stood outside.

"Commander Frase! COMMANDER FRASE!" came a voice from down the corridor as a NSF rookie ran down passed Decker.

"He is just in the toilet; he'll be a few minutes." Decker said as the young man of about twenty ran past.

"Lebedev is waiting for him, sir." The young man said and went to open the toilet door. Decker blocked him with his arm and the man looked up with surprise.

"Give him a few minutes," Decker said softly.

"But…" the man was cut of by the vertical frown marks between Decker's aging eyebrows.

There was the sound of a door opening on its hinges. Both men turned to see Commander Frase standing tall in the doorway. He coughed and Decker removed his obstructing arm. Frase walked squarely down and out of the small canteen area. Decker followed, pursued by the young NSF recruit.

"Ah finally commander, please do not keep me waiting again, I have important matters to attend to after this one." The well-spoken Lebedev said turning around to face the commander. Many NSF troops were stood around listening to there leader speak.

"My apologises, sir." Frase replied, "Shall we continue somewhere more private?"

"Yes that would be best." Lebedev answered.

The two men, surrounded by the thuggish guards walked upstairs into one of the upstairs offices. There was a great sound of excited chatter as the door was shut. Decker spotted Killian who he had met a few days earlier. He was drinking, this time, a nutritious milk-like drink. He walked over grinning.

"Hey, Decker! How ya holding up ol' timer?" Killian laughed.

"Fine, yourself?" Decker asked.

"I am good, got myself a place on the UNATCO HQ assault team," he said cheerfully. "Can't wait to go kick some UNATCO ass!"

Decker nodded and smiled, he snapped the lid of his heart medication and shook it, looking inside. "Only a few left, shit!" Decker said to himself. Killian's smile dropped "What are they for?" he asked puzzled.

"Oh these, just medication I have to take." Decker answered revealing nothing. "I err… got to go see you later and erm… good luck for the assault."

It was mid-evening, the sky was coated in a blanket of dark grey rain clouds; the temperature had dropped to just above freezing. Decker stood anxiously behind Lebedev, JoJo, and Frase plus some other key NSF members.

"Yes. Password?" came a crackled voice over the small intercom.

"Bloodshot." Lebedev said into the speaker. There was a sharp buzz and the lock of the single metal door opened. Lebedev walked in first, followed by two bodyguards, JoJo and his colleagues (pimps and drug dealers), Frase and then Decker. They all stood closely on the small elevator and rode it down to the basement.

The basement was enormous, numerous boxes and crates were piled up to the ceiling in the one corner of the floor space. Twenty small commercial grade security robots lay deactivated in a group on the other side. It was Smuggler's Lair. Smuggler was, by name, an arms dealer; he stood at the face of the lift entrance covered head-to-toe in body armour, assault shotgun in hand.

"Quite a party we have here, oh… and you've brought presents. Drop the pieces boys otherwise you won't have hands to carry them." Smuggler said to the bodyguards. Lebedev nodded and the guards threw their weapons to the ground. "…And you pretty boy…" Smuggler directed his focus on JoJo and the other pimps. JoJo sucked his teeth and cursed under his breath. JoJo un-holstered his customised, plated silenced pistol.

"Good, now let us do business."

The group followed Smuggler into the back area, a small private room. The most important NSF members Lebedev, JoJo, and Frase sat down around a table and Smuggler started speaking. Decker eavesdropped on the conversation as he stood with others.

"Right, twenty commercial security bots, fifteen crates of 7.62mm X 51mm UNATCO standard issue assault rifles with 20mm High Explosive round launchers, seventeen cases of Light Attack Munitions…"

"Excuse me please." came a nervy voice behind Decker cutting off his eavesdropping. Decker turned around and saw a man around his age, with a mousy brown beard and thinning hair, standing behind him. The man was wearing a pair of baggy faded denim jeans and a white creased T-shirt. Decker apologised and sidestepped out of the way. The man walked past and sat at the personal computer terminal. Lebedev's bodyguards stared at the man angrily causing Smuggler to stop his deal.

"That's my colleague Ford Schick. He is perfectly safe, he's harmless. Mr Lebedev tells your goons to calm down." Smuggler said.

"Gentlemen, compose yourselves please," Lebedev said. The deal commenced and a few hours later the armaments were being loaded, via the small maintenance ladder that led to the surface and the elevator. Into a white transit van and unmarked cars the armaments went for delivery to the 20th Street Warehouse NSF HQ. Decker helped with guiding the small security bots onto the ramps at the back of the transit vans. The vans came every fifteen minutes in groups of three. NSF stood out openly in the streets armed with their newfound weapons. Smuggler escorted Lebedev off the premises and shook his hand. JoJo had long gone, bored with the loading and waiting; he had gone to sort out his own affairs. Frase was overseeing the loading and unloading of the armoury; linked with the Headquarters he was timing the deliveries. Lebedev tapped Decker's shoulder.

"Erin will be working at the airbase on the security team. I was told you and Young preferred if she was in a secure area. We shall meet again soon… when we succeed." Lebedev got a van and drove off with the other two vans. Smuggler walked up behind Decker.

"I heard that you've got an interest in this type of hardware. If you need anything I can get it. Old or new." Smuggler said. "You know where to come. Just keep it between you and me though."

"Ok," Decker agreed.

"I'm Smuggler, I can smuggle anything." Smuggler said introducing himself.

"Decker Parkes." Decker replied.

"Look forward to doing business with you." Smuggler smiled and stared at Decker through his sunglasses.

"Decker! Take this!" Killian cried as Decker headed out across the grass of Battery Park. He threw a small holster bag through the air it landed at Decker's feet. "Take it with you to the airbase." He called then ran back inside to the depths of the old fortress. Decker picked up the bag and opened it. There was a small canister the bag, it contain a blue glimmering jelly that illuminated the inside of the bag. Decker was puzzled but there was not time to question it. He followed the mass of NSF troops down into the Battery Park Subway Station. The crackling rattle of machine gun fire echoed in the distance. The NSF were holding back the local police forces, but it would only be a few hours before UNATCO got re-organised and headed the counter-attack of the Liberty Island assault.

Decker scurried down the stairs and waited outside with the other NSF members, some were clearly concerned others were simply pumped up with adrenaline. They watched the Ambrosia shipments disappear down the secret lift behind the telephone booth. The shipments were going to be taken to through secret passages that lead to the Brooklyn Bridge. With help from the homeless civilians that lived there known as the Mole People. The shipment would be transferred to Commander Grimaldi's team who would take it to LaGuardia Airbase. Half the team would go underground now, the other half, the one Decker was going with, would go back to the NSF Headquarters on 20th Street and prepare for a UNATCO assault.

The train squealed to a halt as the brakes slowed the train to a halt on the platform. The NSF members Decker was travelling with put on large concealing mackintosh coats to hide their side arms and sawn offs. Decker stepped onto the train and sat down next to the unaware civilians. The train restarted and chattered down the tunnel.

The woman and her child opposite Decker stared at him as if they knew who he was, who he really was. Decker looked around the train. The lieutenants were on the far side and five more NSF members were further down. Decker jiggled his legs and fidgeted with his hands. He rested his head against the vibrating window. A man who was reading a newspaper coughed next to Decker. Everyone looked at him with paranoid fearful eyes as if he was a potential Grey Death plague victim. The person sitting next to him stood up and moved further down the train, the woman put her child on her lap and cuddled it. The man who had coughed went red with embarrassment and apologised, even Decker could not help but stare with prejudice.

The tunnel lights streaked past in long bright lines. Stations passed, people got off, and more people got on all unaware that there were, as the authorities had labelled them, "terrorists" sitting in between them. Decker opened his compact laptop computer and started to type a message. As he finished the train stopped at 18th Street Subway Station. Their stop. Decker gathered his possessions and rose from his seat he walked off the train and followed the twenty plus men. They walked in groups of five across the platform. As they reached the brink of the stairs JoJo appeared in a sleeveless waistcoat, arms covered in tattoos. He nodded and they followed him.

As Decker sat in the back of the smoky pimp's car he wondered about how Young and Erin were doing. The cars stopped outside the NSF Headquarters the doors opened with a slow click…

A slow click. The sound that awoke Decker from his dream was a slow click. A click similar to the sound of the hammer being pulled back on a gun. Decker's eyes opened wide and frantic. He raised his head from the keyboard but felt a cold metallic barrel press against the base of his neck. Decker sat there frozen in fear. He could hear his heart beating furiously, pounding against the wall of his ribcage. Sweat slowly crawled down the sides of Decker's head tingling the hairs causing and itching sensation.

A glance to the side, to the side table. The gun next to the bed was gone. Decker cursed silently. He knew it, the person holding his gun knew it. Decker was fucked.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Decker sat there like a rabbit caught in the mesmerising gaze of vehicles headlights. Stiff and unable to move. His mind overloaded him with emotions and thoughts, he imagined his head being opened up and splattering the ceiling in watery blood and skull fragments. Decker clenched his teeth and braced for the flash and stinging bullet to penetrate his skull as the gun was taken back from his neck.

He could feel the tingling warm blood rush back into the small white circle left on the back of his neck by the gun barrel. All Decker was saying was "Shit…Shit…SHIT!" repeatedly in his head. The reality of his situation had hit him square in the face. He was going to die, unless he acted now.

"Ahh…You're finally awake old man…SURPRISE!" Decker's body relaxed as his brain recognised the voice it was Wayne Young. Decker fell off his chair like a scarecrow that had been removed from its post he looked up at his two grinning colleagues. Young stood by the bed gun still in hand and Erin sniggered to herself in his shadow.

"Very funny" Decker scowled. He was still panting from holding his breath.

"Oh come on Decks, you gotta admit the look on your face was classic, and jeez… I am sure you shit your load, gramps." Young said cockily, Decker suddenly felt the anger well up inside him.

"How the fuck can you play games at times like this you idiot? For all you know Majestic Twelve could be outside ready to burst in and you're here playing childish pranks! Go shut the door and get ready!"

"Calm down! We weren't followed! Anyway what use would you be, dribbling over the keyboard?" Young snapped back. Decker rose to his feet, eyes bulging with rage, frown marks appearing on his wrinkled forehead, nose scrunched up and curling his upper lip. Erin automatically went between them and separated to two enraged men.

The computer's speakers made a rapid bleeping noise and the screen flashed furiously. One reply. Decker turned and rushed back to the computer picking up the fallen chair. He knelt down and used the touch pad and selected the replied e-mail.

From: 328.2133.1230

To: Public Terminal 11ANYNET.44567.22356

Subject: Re: Need Passage

Date: Sun, 24 Nov 2052 02:37:38 +0100

Decker,

Please accept my apologies on the delay, but as you know "special cases" takes time and planning. I have managed to persuade a transit driver to smuggle you in his lorry to Europe, he is delivering a shipment of tobacco to Italy and will be landing in Nantes and working his way down to Lyon. I am aware of the current situation in France, martial law; maybe you could align yourself and your friends with Silhouette. This would mean going to Paris.

I am currently in business with an arms dealer, who provides armaments to the Silhouette rebel group. He lives in the suburb of Marais, in France the suburbs are called "quartiers" or something, it is just East Of the Louvre. Ask around for a man known as, Jacques Adélie, also known as Le Corbeau on the streets of Paris, he can supply you with a wide range of arms.

The driver who will transporting you to Europe will be waiting tomorrow night (Monday 25th November) at the docks at 2300 hours (11pm) his name is Harvey Franklin. Do not be late.

Bon Voyage! Le Contrebandier.

From: Public Terminal 11ANYNET.44567.22356

To: 328.2133.1230

Subject: Need Passage

Date: Sat, 23 Nov 2052 00:18:24 +0100

You met me once when doing business with Lebedev; I got the impression you were a professional then, so I'm going to try and handle this professionally now.

I need passage out of this city - underneath the official radar - for me and two other people. We're prepared to keep our mouths shut, and we're prepared to pay. We don't care how, and we don't care where: Hong Kong, Lagos, Paris if you can, but anywhere that's outside of the country. I've hacked this terminal with an account that should be active for the next 24 hours; I'll check it periodically for your response.

Decker

Everyone's face broke out in ecstatic smiles, as their eyes skimmed over the few hundred words. This was their golden ticket out of America. No one knew where the suburb of Marais was; no one could care less, as long as it was away from the United States and the prowling Majestic Twelve. They all knew Majestic Twelve had infected nearly everything, corrupted even the international authorities. In every major organisation it was guaranteed that someone was watching or controlling all events, pulling the strings. But, at the moment France seemed to be the safest places to go for UNATCO targeted terrorists.

Even though France was mainly under martial law and MJ12 troops operated openly, like UNATCO troopers, terrorists were going to France and disappearing. Now the National Secessionist Forces were literally on their last legs after the raid on LaGuardia and the rebels in the U.S. had almost all rolled over and played dead to the corrupt UNATCO.

Decker would have to try and associate himself with one of the terrorist groups in France, mostly likely Silhouette.

Wayne squeezed Decker shoulders. "You did it old man," he said in Decker's ear.

Decker smiled weakly, he was still nervous, questioning even the precautions he took in encoding the e-mails. He felt someone knew what was going on. Someone still could be watching. It had been a few days since their presence was discovered at the airfield. Many public terminals displayed lists of terrorist associates with small descriptions, even Decker Parkes had managed to occupy a space on them, described as a being five feet nine inches tall, late forties, major involvement with the NSF attacks on both Liberty Island and LaGuardia airfield and warned people not to approach him. UNATCO had even gone to the trouble of putting a small thumbnail photograph of Decker next to his name. Wayne and Erin, his accomplices, were on the terminal too.

"Why didn't you tell me DECKER?" Erin's face was bright pink with fury "WHEN was you gonna tell ME?" She shrieked. Decker looked down at the floor, his body deflated with regret. "I was…" he muttered still looking from her anguished face.

"When? When you suddenly decided to walk out of the door for good? Why didn't you tell me you were leaving sooner instead of on the last day? Don't you trust me?" tears of emotion rolled down her flushed cheeks. Decker winced painfully, he hated confrontations.

"I do trust you, I really do and I am so sorry. I would have told you sooner, but I didn't know what to say." Decker explained.

"So you leave it for some dumb ass technician to tell me?" she said calming down slightly.

"I'll keep in touch. I promise. It's just I'm too old for all this running around, rogue shit." Decker smiled and went to comfort Erin; she embraced him wiping her tears on his shoulder

"You've been like a father to me." She whispered then let go and proceeded up the stairs of the cargo bay of Lebedev's Bowing 747. Decker stood there thinking to himself about what she had said, it had touched him. He looked at the canister Killian had gave him at Battery Park, which was contained in a suspension crate. Decker knelt down and deactivated the shimmering force field by punching the code 9905 in on the small metallic keypad. He picked up the small hexagonal canister and inspected it. The jelly-like liquid inside glistened with a light blue glow as it slopped heavily from side to side. What ever it was he knew Juan Ivanovich Lebedev would know what to do with it.

Decker looked at his watch, time was slipping away he still needed to oversee the loading of Ambrosia at the docks.

Decker strode through the stacks of ribbed cargo crates out on the airfield. The small boathouse was busy with activity. NSF members were unloading the Ambrosia from the backs of juggernaut lorries and carrying them to the speedboats. Young was also overseeing the shipments checking with the supervising officer on the progress.

"How are things going with the loading, Young?" Decker asked as he approached.

"Very well, it seems we're a head of schedule." Young replied writing something on his clipboard. The supervising officer made himself known by coughing quietly. Young looked at him

"Oh, this is Lieutenant Barrett, he is supervising the shipment." Young said and the Lieutenant saluted.

"Pleasure to meet you, sir." He said. Decker nodded and smirked in amusement at the Lieutenant.

"Can I have a word Young?" Decker asked.

"Sure." They walked off down towards the defence tower.

"Reports are coming in all over the place that UNATCO has responded more rapidly than anticipated they're already at Battery Park. It won't be long before they connect the shipment to the airfield. I need you to work faster." Decker whispered

"We are not "mechs"; my men are tired, if you had seen the street fighting around Brooklyn you would understand." Young replied.

"Well I am getting mixed messages from the NSF around New York, some are talking crazy, about some guy taking out everyone, sounds like UNATCO are back to using their "mechs". I just need things ready for when Lebedev returns he is bringing a guest, a new colonel or something." Decker said.

"I'll try." Young promised.

The earpiece in Decker's ear crackled. "Lebedev's on his way. Over."

Decker finished up at the dock and awaited Lebedev's helicopter at the helipad. All the commanding officers from all the sections were there to greet their leader as the helicopter touched the ground. Lebedev disembarked, follow by a six-foot man, dressed in a long dark trench coat. He never spoke as he left the helicopter, he just walked swiftly aside Lebedev. The officers followed Lebedev, Decker followed too, curiously looking and this new person.

He had never seen this man before and Decker knew nearly all the commanders of the NSF. The man had black-slicked back hair and a thick goatee beard. But something was not right with him. His eyes were a piercing blue, almost like small light bulbs. Underneath his tanned skin were what looked like small wire connection, silver lines collected around by his temples and the sides of his neck. The man's movements were swift and athletic with great power, and wore what looked like UNATCO Special Operations attire.

Whilst Decker had worked for Majestic Twelve, during the development of the mechanical augmentations, rumours were that tests were being carried out on a new experimental body augmentation, "nano-augmentations". The usage of "nanites" small robotics that enhanced the body, they were about a billionth of a metre long. Could Decker be witnessing the first "nano-augmented" soldier, if so what was he doing here?

Decker heard the man speak; he had some concern in his voice as if he was worrying about something or someone. Lebedev asked him a question and the man seemed to disconnect and paused as if questioning himself or confirming something, then his answer was complex and logical as if a computer had answered for him. This man was a guest of Lebedev's but no one knew who he was.

"Sir, the motion sensors have picked up movement in the lower sewage system. The IFF system on the surveillance cameras has managed to track down the intruder. Please sir, come and view this for yourself." Decker followed the NSF security officer into the small security hub.

The wall monitors were split into multiple screens overlapping each other. On one was an image of a man dressed in a long dark blue trench coat, thick plated body armour, and what looked like a special operations UNATCO uniform on underneath the armour like Lebedev's guest. The man was armed with a compact assault rifle and had a sniper rifle strapped over his shoulder, with a small bag tied to the butt of the rifle. The man moved swiftly in and out of the darkness, rifle held in the same fixed position at his waist. Decker stared intensely at the image, puzzled, UNATCO have never sent in a solo agent and if they did, they would usually the monstrous mechanically augmented agents. And this man was not mechanically augmented.

"He has killed many of our brothers, and reports came in from Liberty Island that UNATCO have a new experimental agent. I thought you should see it first sir, Lord knows what UNATCO have enhanced him with or what they'll send next." The security officer looked up at Decker from the swivel chair.

"Base, we have an intruder. Send a squadron of men down to the sewers, treat the hostile with extreme caution we may have a "Mech" on our hands. Over." Decker spoke into the small hidden microphone on his jacket collar. There was a static charge in his earpiece and a reply to his message.

"This is base. Do NOT intercept intruder! Warn all men to be on highest alert; Lebedev has given strict instructions to let the man through. If attacked treat as hostile. Over." The message crackled over the earpiece, Decker frowned.

"What is wrong sir?" asked the officer.

"We've been ordered not to intercept the intruder. God knows what's going on back there? Tell all troops to be alert…someone is coming." Decker said to the bewildered officer, then left in an urgent pace.

In the darkness they scuttled, like a party of elephants. They held on to each other's hands, leading each other, one by one down the tunnel. Down the tight, claustrophobic void echoed the chaos from above. Only a few of them had managed to get down the small manhole hidden underneath one of the cargo containers on the airfield, before the UNATCO hit-squad had arrived at Lebedev's Bowing 747 hanger.

Now the crackling echoes of gunfire haunted the space behind them, as they shuffled some stooping because of the low ceiling, away from the airfield. Decker who held onto a young NSF soldier's wrist, thought about the ones who never escaped. Lebedev would no doubt be captured dead or alive. If alive, he would be taken to one of the UNATCO holding bay also known as the Majestic Twelve "Torture Cells".

Apart from the claustrophobic environment causing him to feel pressured and UNATCO only being a few metres above them, something else was making Decker feel like his heart was in his throat. It was the fact that every datacube, e-mail, security record had Decker's name on it, his signature stamped all over them. As soon as the UNATCO encryption team broke the codes, a little light would illuminate on MJ12's traitor board. Decker, Wayne Young and Erin Todd had just put their necks on the blocks ready for Majestic Twelve to bring down the heavy execution axe.

Decker peeped down the line of people silhouettes at the single torchlight down the corridor, the exit seemed miles away. Behind them two volunteers had asked to stay behind and cover their backs, one of them was Wayne Young.

Decker could feel his heart beat heavily against his chest; he could hear his nervous whimpering breaths and feel his cold legs ache with every step. He wished for the exit to be just at the next corner, but it never was. Half an hour they stumbled, bumping their heads, scraping their feet against the slimy algae floors.

The nightlight burst in from the manhole high above, everyone sighed. Joyful chatter erupted as they collected outside standing in groups of friends. Although Decker stood singly by the manhole waiting for Young to pop his head up. Erin was striding around upset and anxious.

"Miss me?" Decker looked down and in the gloom Wayne looked back up, another NSF member behind him. Erin let out a cry and tears streamed from her face. Decker helped Wayne up from the manhole taking his weapon from him. All three stood and looked across the waters at the lights from the helicopters skimming the airfield.

"What do we do now?" whimpered Erin.

"We get smuggled." Decker replied.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Harvey Franklin, the transit driver, laughed out loud and heartily, Young grinned as Harvey laughed at the story that he had just told him. Decker who was reading a novel, smiled secretly, as he tried to pretend he was not listening in on the conversation. Everyone was feeling exhausted from the journey they had travelled, somehow Harvey had managed to slip through Customs and Excise even though he carried three illegal, hunted terrorists, wanted by the international authorities, in his lorry. Decker thanked God that the customs officer had a nicotine habit and was familiar with Harvey and his friends.

Harvey was a black man in his late fifties. He had short grey hair with a bald spot and receding hairline. His face that was once chubby and round had worn thin and lined with age. Harvey had grown a scruffy stubbly beard, some stubble around his jaw and chin had grown longer as he had missed or forgot to shave there. It reminded Decker that he needed to shave or trim his now fairly long beard. Every time Harvey laughed at one of Young's stories, he showed of his crooked row of cigarette stained teeth. He chuckled and coughed in his deep Caribbean voice.

"…I'm tellin' you Harv that's what the stupid bitch said." Young said smirking like a Cheshire cat. Decker hated the way Wayne always shortened people's names, Decker became Decks, Harvey became Harv. Young also gave people stupid nicknames, he always called Decker "old timer" and "gramps", and Decker detested this, as it reminded Decker of his age. Decker suddenly realised he was criticising again he seemed to always do this around Young, he did not know why, age had probably made Decker grumpy and too judgemental or maybe Decker secretly wished his was Young's age again.

Decker and Young sat in the cab with driver, Harvey Franklin, whilst Erin slept on a small seat behind them. For miles they had been driven, past countless bare fields and farmland on the long straight stretch of dual carriageway. Every field was similar; the surroundings seemed to be on a repetitive movie reel playing over and over. Occasionally there would be a old neglected farmhouse, made of crumbling stone and dark brown roof with half the slate missing showing the naked wooden timbers or an old French oak tree, grey and rotting, occupying a single empty field, bare of leaves due to the winter. Decker thought France was similar to the open farmland of the American country. Young was chatting to the driver about sport, and who he, thought would win the National Football League, as Decker stared out at the boring, bland, featureless countryside.

Just as the blue and white road signs started to read Paris 10 kilometres the lorry indicated left and drove into a service station pulling in-between a group of similar transit lorries.

"This is as far as I can take you," said Harvey "The authorities are too strict around the capital and pull over every lorry to check for any passengers travelling illegally."

"Thanks for risking the journey." Young said appreciative, shaking Harvey's plump hands.

"No probs, bro. Good luck y'all."

Getting into Paris was becoming a problem; they sat and waited by the exit of the Service Station trying to flag down cars for a lift into the city. It was nearing midday and they managed to hitchhike in a businessman's saloon car, he dropped them off inside the city. Luckily he knew where all the roadblocks were and where MJ12 troopers made random car searches. He avoided them, not to aid the three passengers he had sitting in the back, but to save himself time getting to work. The three of them made their way to the nearest Metro station, the Parisian underground train network, and stood looking at the interconnecting coloured lines on the underground map searching for Marias or anywhere near that suburb.

Hiding behind Decker, Erin and Wayne awaited for their train tickets. Decker approached the small ticket booth embedded in the tiled wall and was greeted by a chirpy young man behind the thick transparent screen.

"Oui, Monsieur. Je peux vous aider?" The man in the ticket booth asked quickly.

"Err…Je voudrais… trois aller simple, pour Marias, deuxième classe, s'il vous plaît."

Decker mumbled trying to disguise his foreign accent.

"Ah, oui." The man said.

"C'est combien?" Decker asked.

"C'est quatre-vingt-cinq credits. Il part à onze heures quinze. Quai F." the man told Decker. Decker only picked out a few words "85 credits", "At eleven o'clock" or something similar and "F", the rest was too quick and confused him.

Decker nodded and snatched the tickets quickly as they slid underneath the screen.

"Au revoir, monsieur." The man said after Decker paid, Decker did not reply, he just took the tickets and walked through the bustling crowd.

The cabins of the underground train flashed past as the train screeched to a halt, all around the platform stood Metro police officers, dressed in light blue uniforms and wearing mirrored sunglasses they stood at the edges of the crowds looking in at any suspicious characters. The three of them were somehow overlooked even though they shuffled across the ground looking at the floor and trying to avoid the officer's gaze.

There was a loud shout and through the crowd came seven officers, batons flicked out and extended. Through the crowd of awaiting passengers they pushed all they way to the trio's position. Decker flinched face a wash with shock and fear. Erin closed her eyes in expectance. Young froze in a fighting stance.

A man in front of them was thrown to the ground and restrained. Decker looked down as the man head hit the floor at his feet and screamed out French curses. The officers smacked the struggling man on the legs to calm down his thrashing, flailing limbs. He groaned as they handcuffed him and pulled him to his feet. The other officers held back the crowd as the man was dragged off. Decker's body relaxed from its alert state but he stood their confused and slightly dazed.

"Excusez-moi Madame!" the officer apologized sincerely to Erin who had been bumped into by the officers. She smiled weakly and they all boarded the crowded train.

The train pulled out of the platform and churned through the dark tunnels. Decker sat opposite Erin and Young next to a middle aged businessman, he was reading the inside of a newspaper, a section on the terrorist group Silhouette. On the walls of the cabin were small pamphlets and posters on criminals and terrorists wanted by the international authorities. Decker read one.

INTERPOL WANTED: J.C. Denton

Interpol is currently seeking the whereabouts of known terrorist J.C. Denton. Denton is wanted for a number of international crimes including theft, murder, money laundering, drug trafficking, and destruction of property. Denton was last believed to have been sighted in New York, but recent information indicates that he may currently be operating in Paris.

Denton is approximately six feet tall, with silver facial tattoos and solid blue eyes - the result of a rare genetic condition that he often conceals with a pair of sunglasses. Denton is extremely dangerous and should NOT be approached. Instead, if you believe you have seen him, contact your nearest police or security representative. There is currently a reward of c10, 000 for information that leads to his capture or arrest.

Interpol is also attempting to locate Alex Jacobson and Jaime Reyes for questioning in a number of related incidents. No descriptions are available at this time, but will be posted as they become available.

Decker shivered; soon his name and description would be plastered around Paris. The train squealed to a halt and everyone disembarked. The followed the crowds to the surface being helped along by the pushy French citizens in the early morning rush to get to work. The three of them stuck closely together trying not to get separated. The managed to find their way to a small café and sat around the circular table next to the wall were they could talk in secret and would not be heard.

Decker knew were the arms dealer lived; Smuggler had e-mailed the address as they arrived in France. They ate and studied a small tourist map of the streets working out the quickest way of getting there. For a few hours they sat eating a breakfast meal of croissants, hot chocolate with cream, and pain au chocolat.

Around the busy square stomped Bravo-3 Peacebringer security robots, scanning the surroundings. Darkly uniformed soldiers walked around in pairs, Majestic Twelve troopers. The city was under military control. They decided to leave, walking down through the alleyways and crossing the wide multi-laned roads. It was nearing mid-afternoon when they managed to find the arms dealers house. The sky had quickly clouded over and thin drops of rain started to fall. The street was quite busy in black unmarked vans sat Majestic Twelve troopers awaiting the first sign of trouble. They would come back later; Decker felt it was too early and dangerous. They retreated and sat on a small bench eating again, sharing a baguette; trying to save credits.

Decker lead Young and Erin back to the street and they approached the tall house identical to the rest. Decker pressed the buzzer on the door and waited patiently. A small crack appeared at the side of the door as it was slowly pulled open on the safety chain.

"We're looking for Le Corbeau." Young said as the person behind the door looked at the three strangers standing on the doorstep. "We're here to do business with him, we are friends of the American known as The Smuggler." Young continued.

"Une moment." Came a reply, then the door shut and the sound of a heavy-duty lock sliding back across the door echoed through the door. Erin looked around, noticing a small disguised surveillance camera had been watching them from above. Of a period of around three minutes the door re-opened, halfway.

"One at a time, la petit fille first." The person at the door instructed. Erin wearily stepped into the dark doorway at the door immediately shut behind her. Then, a few moments later Young was asked to enter which he did quickly, as if to find what had happened to Erin. Decker was left standing awkwardly at the doorstep, in the open street. He could feel his stomach knotting. Decker stood trying to listen to whatever was going on behind the door, then, the door opened startling him.

A man stood at the side of the hallway as Decker stepped in. He was a medium build, although slightly muscular, with short spiked black hair and a stubbly beard. The man's skin was slightly yellowed in appearance and he had dark brown rings under his eyes. The man was armed with a customised assault shotgun, the barrel had been extended to reduce the spray of the pellets. He was also head to toe in body armour, a big thick plated vest and pads covering his legs, upper arms, and groin.

"Stand against the wall and drop the bag." The man ordered. Decker placed his bag slowly next to his right foot and spread his arms out to the side.

"Good." The man gave his shotgun to a female colleague who had appeared out from behind a curtain. She aimed the gun at Decker's face as the man patted Decker down and turned out his pockets. "'E iz safe, collect your possessions and follow me."

The man disappeared behind a thick worn curtain; Decker hurried and collected his belongings, walking through the rippling gap in the curtain where the man had disappeared. The woman followed closely almost pressing the barrel of the shotgun in his back. Everywhere seemed to be lit in a dull light, even though the sun had not set yet outside. Decker was lead through a pair of elegant double doors where Young and Erin sat near a wide, dark coloured wood writing table, which had a patterned surface decorated with tulipwood and green-stained sycamore. The evening sunlight pierced through a slit in the curtains, creating a fiery orange stripe down the centre of the room cutting across the table.

"Take a seat please." The man said. Decker sat down in the slightly uncomfortable gold painted chair that forced him to sit in an upright posture, Decker was more accustomed to the ergonomically designed chairs of the 21st Century, than an old wooden chair. He looked over to Young who was holding Erin's hand. They sat facing a huge empty chair across the other end of the table awaiting "Le Corbeau". The doors opened again, none of them dared to turn round and see who walked in.

A man sat down in the chair at the writing table. He was a mixed race man, with a shaven head, he eyes were a dark brown, almost black and he held a cigarette between his thick lips. The man was dressed in a tight black jacket with a black polar-neck jumper underneath. Obviously the man they were here to see.

"So?" the man asked.

"Are you "Le Corbeau"?" Decker asked.

"Oui. I am the one known as "Le Corbeau", my name is Jacques Adélie. You are?"

"Decker Parkes, Smuggler said…" Decker was stopped as Jacques smiled.

"Ahh…Smuggler how is he these days?" Jacques smiled.

"He is…" Decker started.

"Cut the crap! Can you supply us with arms? Yes or no?" Erin shouted startling both Decker and Young; she even took the arms dealer by surprise. His smile had dropped, and his face turned serious.

"Patience my dear and learn to hold your tongue, otherwise I will have my good friend Mr Rota, take you outside." Jacques snarled. "Henri, ask Ave, if she could prepare some drinks for our guest?"

The man who had let the three of them in was the man known as Henri Rota. He nodded and left the room. Decker watched Henri leave the room then turned back to Jacques who had placed his wrists down on the table and sat there with his hands cupped. "So Madame, what would you like to buy?"

The conversation was fast and snappy, Young sat back and watched as Erin bantered with the arms dealer, trying to get the cheapest weapons, even cheaper. The arms dealer, Jacques, pulled out a selection of handguns and explosives, some had obviously taken from Majestic Twelve soldiers and had the serial numbers scratched off. Erin's knowledge of the current weapons available helped her spot the arms dealer's devious offers. She knew what she was talking about and what she was aiming to get.

Ave, the woman who had held the shotgun to Decker's back supplied them with a small snack of pâté on crackers and biscuits and glass of red wine, they accepted gratefully as they had been almost starved on the journey over. Decker sat quiet throughout the transaction; he looked around the room noticing most of the decorative furnishings had been slightly damaged, for they had been stolen from upper class homes in the riots and protests, during the martial law.

Eventually, Jacques gave into Erin's constant, repetitive and annoying stubbornness and supplied the three of them with three handguns and a few LAMs. "You may come back when you have more credits… Do you have a place to stay?" Jacques asked. The three of them shook their heads uttering the word "No." Jacques looked up at Ave who seemed to say something with a strange look.

"Well, I would offer a room here, but there is no room. I do know a local hotel in which you can stay. It is pretty safe, and quite luxurious. You may have to pay a lot of money, because you are…foreigners." Jacques stood up from the desk as walked around it. "Please follow Henri to the car."

Henri walked swiftly through the curtain and they followed him from the chairs. Decker was stopped by Jacques who put his had firmly on his shoulder. "I understand from the Smuggler, you are an expert in setting up security systems." Jacques whispered. Decker nodded "I may have work for you, if you would like to join me."

"Only if you employee all three of us, Young is a good fighter and Erin has an in-depth knowledge of weaponry, demolition, and specialist equipment." Decker replied. Jacques nodded and squinted as if in deep thought. "We shall speak tomorrow, now come, to the car."

Outside, a saloon car waited running the engine, Erin and Young sat in the back. Jacques got in the passenger side and Decker joined his friends in the back. Decker smiled. "What's up?" Erin asked.

"I may have found us all an employer." Decker whispered. Jacques who was in the front heard this and smiled, he was already planning what would happen to his three new members.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

From: GenericMail883Net.2342.09238

To: 328.2133.1230

Subject: Friend in Need

Date: Wed, 27 Nov 2052, 18:23:12 -0600

You helped me and some friends out recently. That transaction was business, but you still did me a good turn. I don't forget that.

I heard through channels that there's some bad stuff coming down on you - don't know why, people I talked to just said it had to do with a guy named "J.C. Denton". I haven't heard of him, but someone wants him dead, cold in the ground. Personal reasons.

And your name has come up.

Fair warning. Watch your back.

Decker

These were the words Decker typed as he sat in the back seat of the vehicle. Jacques was driving, he was taking them down the Boulevard of Lenoir, which was rowed with tall white elegant houses, some scarred with damage from the numerous riots and demonstrations against the martial law. The saloon car sped down the almost dead street. The martial law time limit was nearing as the sun started to disappear against the silhouette of the Parisian buildings.

Henri stopped the car and Jacques turned around in his seat. "This is it the Citadines hotel." Decker looked out of the window across the street at the grand hotel. From far away it looked luxurious and upper class, but Decker saw it was now in a dire state. The three got out of the car Erin said "Wow!" and Young just looked up at the building. The car sped back down the road taking a right hand turn leaving them on their own, in a strange city.

The sign read Citadines in big elegant letters just above APART' HOTEL which was in white capitals on a faded green stripe underneath. The sign was slightly lopsided where someone had thrown a projectile at it. The two white and plum coloured columns either side the decorative double doors were scarred with anarchistic graffiti, and the two windows above the sign were boarded up.

What was once an upper class hotel had now turned into a drop in Bed and Breakfast in a dire state of repair. The hotel was vast, over one hundred apartments and a private underground car park used by government officials and the occasional celebrity, but the great depression and political chaos that hit the great city, forced the owners to abandon the hotel in fear.

The suburb of Marais had been hit with some of the worst riots and looting in Paris. The working class citizens were attacking both the police and middle class in a mad, angry frenzy after hearing international word of the Ambrosia vaccine. Knowing that the citizens were not confident with President Bourges-Maunoury's administration, activist groups like SCHUSE and Silhouette took advantage spreading their propaganda and gaining many new members and supporters. Every government office, hotel, and house in the area suffered vast damage from the mass uprising many months ago.

Young walked up to the worn, brass, framed glass doors and pushed the cylindrical handle. The heavy door stuck to the floor and scraped across the ground swinging awkwardly. The three of them entered the spacious, high-ceiling lobby of the hotel, which was decorated in creamy wallpaper and huge potted plants sat next to the spaces where stolen paintings used to hang. The tiled floor, which would once reflect the warm light from the huge crystal chandelier, was now cracked and covered in dusty footprints. The reception desk sat in the centre of the lobby in between two wide twisting staircases that lead to the first floor rooms.

A man sat behind the counter smoking a cigarette as his thumbed through a magazine only looking at the pictures. He tapped the cigarette releasing small fiery ciders into the ashtray on the desk and blew out a slow moving tangled string of smoke that floated to the ceiling,

"Err…Excusez-moi…monsieur." Decker said feeling awkward trying to recall his French. The receptionist glanced up from his magazine and smiled weakly.

"Bonsoir monsieur. Je peux vous aider?" the receptionist asked politely, leaning forward from his chair and cupping his hands together. Decker stood puzzled, he was struck back with the speed at which the receptionist seemed to speak as the French words rolled fluently of his tongue in a blurb of unfamiliar noise. The small receptionist sat there waiting patiently for a response from Decker whose confidence had deserted him in an instance. He was like the small shy new child that had walked into their first classroom on their first day of their new school; everyone staring at, waiting for them to speak.

"Erm…American, Américain?…err…Anglais? Do you speak…?" Decker stuttered and splattered nervously turning bright red.

"Ah… Américain, oui, oui. How can I help you monsieur?" the receptionist said in English, grinning at the fumbling American standing at the desk. Decker smiled back feeling the blood flush in his cheeks, the receptionist was still grinning, and Decker knew he was laughing at him.

"Err…One…erm…Une chamber? Room? Please." Decker was trying to ask for a room.

"Une chambre…okay…one room zat is for one night? Oui?" the receptionist replied sharply and coldly pronouncing the S's and TH's in the sentence as if they were Z's.

"Yes, oui." Decker said relaxing a little now he could understand what was being spoken.

"Une famille room?" the cold receptionist asked.

"Err…Oui?" Decker answered, not really sure what the receptionist just asked.

"Okay, room twaunty eight iz free, two, eight, twaunty eight. O.K.?"

"Twenty eight. Right." Decker nodded. "How much?…em…Combien?"

"Erm…" The man traced his finger down a list of rooms. "Ah…Une nuit…400 creditz per person becoze of le curfew monsieur, iz zat O.K.?"

"Oui, we'll take it. Merci, monsieur." Decker said.

"Merci, monsieur, good night." The receptionist replied smugly "Va te faire foutre, s'il vous plaît!" the receptionist whispered ringing a small table bell. A small uniformed porter boy appeared from behind the desk. He held out his hands offering to carry the trio's suitcases but everyone held on to their possessions firmly. Puzzled, the boy proceeded up the spiralled staircase to show them to their room. The boy quickly disappeared up narrow set of carpeted stairs at the top of the first floor balcony. The trio clambered after him scraping the suitcases against the walls and handrail of the narrow stairs that were covered in small framed watercolour paintings.

Room twenty-eight was the third room on the second tier of the hotel. The porter stood against the second floor balcony rail opposite to the white painted wooden door, holding out the key with a straight arm. Decker took the key of the porter, who was suddenly looked over the balcony down at the reception area. There were more guests, the boy informed them that breakfast was at half past seven in the morning and then he wished them goodnight before racing back down the two flights to answer the bell downstairs which had rang at least three times.

As Decker turned the key in room twenty-eight door's lock an uncontrollable smile broke out on his face. It felt as if a great weight was lifted from all three of them as the door swung open sucking them into the room with the cold outside air. They had all made it, and they were free to be who they wanted to be, no one knew who they were here, they could start a new life.

The room was filled with cool fresh evening air as the net curtains fluttered in the breeze from the upper bay windows of their, once, luxurious apartment. Erin squealed with excitement and jumped at Wayne who was laughing heartily, they all dropped their suitcases and bags and embraced in the centre of the room. Wayne and Erin embraced, Wayne swinging her light body round and round on the spot laughing ecstatically. Decker picked up and put down his small suitcase on the bed and kicked his footwear off his aching feet. He fell back on the squashy mattress and lay looking up at the ceiling. As long as they lay low and did not use any public communications that were not encoded, Majestic Twelve could not trace them. Jacques had said this place was safe and Decker felt he could be trusted.

"I'm gonna take a shower." Erin said with a grin.

"Good, you can test the water." Young replied. The bathroom door was shut and there was a hush of water from the showerhead as it spurted out warm water. Decker lay still smiling from ear to ear. Young picked up his suitcase and placed it on top of Decker's suitcase, he unzipped the sides of the suitcase flipping open the floppy lid and started to unpack his squarely folded clothes.

There was a double knock at the door.

"Monsieur, Madame left a satchel at reception." Came the small childish voice through the door. Young opened the door to the small porter boy who stared up at Young. The boy held the bag tightly then smiled and handed it over.

"We'll try and be more careful, merci." Young said taking the bag out of the boy's hands. Young slowly closed the door on the porter who was still standing at the door looking inwards. The boy peeped through the slit just as the door closed.

"Nosey little kid." Young said frowning, Decker chuckled. "Erin you left your bag at the reception desk." Young called to her through the shower door.

"Sorry honey," came a muffled apology as the sound of the showerhead stopped.

Decker sat up off the bed squashing the neatly made pile of pillows underneath his mass. He flicked on the bedside lampshade and rummaged through his small satchel. Decker pulled out his laptop computer from a pile of wires and leads and logged in. The Internet automatically signed him in and opened his e-mail account. One new message, from the Smuggler. Decker stared at the screen puzzled.

There was a commotion outside, a quiet whispering, low and secretive. Another knock at the door. Decker clicked on the new message, and waited for it to open looking at Young who rolled his eyes in annoyance as the knocking continued.

"Monsieur, zis iz ze manager of ze hotel, may I speak to you?" the voice wavered waiting for an answer. Young frowned at the voice, Decker started to read the message from Smuggler but the screen went black and a new message appeared. The knocking was interrupted and a rhythmic pounding replaced it, hard and dominant.

"Erin Todd, Decker Parkes, Wayne Young. You are under arrest. Please put down any weapons you may have in your possession, and step out into the hallway."

Erin, who was just walking out of the shower towel drying her hair, froze, letting the small white towel fall from her hands. The three looked at each other with blank expressions, the fear showing clearly in their watery eyes. Decker looked down at the screen, which was scrolling a bold message.

From: UpNet

To: GenericMail883Net.2342.09238

Subject: READ ME

ICARUS FOUND YOU!

ICARUS FOUND YOU!

ICARUS FOUND YOU!

ICARUS FOUND YOU!

ICARUS FOUND YOU!

ICARUS FOUND YOU!

ICARUS FOUND YOU!

ICARUS FOUND YOU!

ICARUS FOUND YOU!

RUN WHILE YOU CAN!

RUN WHILE YOU CAN!

RUN WHILE YOU CAN!

RUN WHILE YOU CAN!

RUN WHILE YOU CAN!

RUN WHILE YOU CAN!

RUN WHILE YOU CAN!

RUN WHILE YOU CAN!

RUN WHILE YOU CAN!

"Shit! Everybody out the window." Young whispered.

The lights in the apartment went out.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

It was like a waiter in a tranquil restaurant had just dropped a tray of crockery. Erin and Young stood there, motionless, immobile, paralysed in the darkness. Decker sat on the bed staring at the repeating tormenting message that illuminated the screen. Decker always wondered how long they could evade the people that trained him. A third booming knock rippled through the deadly silence making all three of them jump with shock. Young's silhouette stood next to the bed, Erin's bag still in his hand dangling by his knees. His eyes were wide and bright like an alerted gazelle. Erin's silhouette shook with pure fear against the ghostly blowing net curtains.

"OPEN UP!" the voice commanded sounding artificial and unnatural. Young came to his senses and felt for the small pistol that Erin kept in her bag. He threw the bag to the floor whipping out the pistol and firing randomly at the doorway. The bullets bit violently through; punching marble sized holes into the wooden door that cracked and splintered. Screams were heard from downstairs, Decker darted up from the bed throwing the laptop to the floor, which still scrolled the teasing message. Cursing quietly Decker fiddled with his bag trying to find his sidearm.

"Out the windows! Now!" Young shouted turning around.

"They're barred!" came a whimpered cry from Erin who was pulling at the windows underneath the net curtains.

"What?" Young cried puzzled.

"They've got FUCKING SAFETY BARS OVER 'EM!" Erin screamed hysterically climbing the ornate barred grills that covered the bay window.

"WHAT THE FUCK!" Young screamed angrily throwing his hands up in the air. Decker found his weapon and scrambled across the bed to aid Young.

The door was violently kicked in; it swung wildly on its hinges embedding the rounded doorknob into the plastered wall. A single man stood in the doorway, nearly the same height as the doorframe, standing around six foot six; he was dressed in a black suit, which was dotted with bullet holes from Young's gun, a white shirt, and a thin black tie. Decker emptied his pistol at the man who reeled back with the force of each bullet, but still, he stood.

"Fuck me." Decker exclaimed standing in awe trying to reload his sidearm. The Man In Black walked into the room and grabbed Decker around his cheeks, squeezing his jaw with a massive hand that engulfed Decker's small head. Decker let out a muffled whimper as the man's palm squashed against Decker's nose and his thick fingers pushed Decker's cheeks against his back teeth with his clamp-like grip.

Young grabbed the metallic up-lighter from the corner of the room, he smashed off the saucer end that held the bulb and cried like a wild man. Young charged at the Man In Black using the up-lighter like a lance, spearing the man in the stomach. The M.I.B. made no noise as Young rammed the smashed end hard into his gut. Decker was dropped as the man let go of Decker's sore face and held onto the other end of the up-lighter in an attempt to dislodge it from his stomach. Using all his strength Young pushed the M.I.B. out onto the landing. Decker picked up his pistol and fired past Young hitting the Man In Black squarely in the shoulder three times.

The Man In Black lost his balance and reeled backwards, falling over the balcony and toppling down to the lobby. He hit the floor below hard, landing head and shoulders first. The man's neck vertebrae punched up through the base of his skull and split his spinal cord. A small signal that was continuously relayed from the brain to a self-termination device was severed. It was like taking a pin out of a grenade and letting go of the lever, the self-destruction device was activated. The body convulsed violently on the tiled floor below.

Young warily stood back from the banister he spotted the elongated shadows of the Majestic Twelve troops against the wall of the narrow staircase wind around the corner of the first floor. An explosion erupted from downstairs illuminating the hotel in a burning white flash. The shockwave of the blast rumbled throughout the building shattering all the hotel windows and rocking everyone off their feet. A ball of smoke plumed up from the lobby in a dirty grey mushroom cloud.

Decker's eardrums had burst from the sheer sound blast and hot congealed blood oozed out of his ears. He sat up slowly from the doorway of the apartment, choking on the smoke. He watched totally disorientated as the bright-oxygenated blood dripped from his nose covering the carpet in several dark circular spots in between his legs. Young, face bright red, had rose shakily to his feet and leaned over checking the foyer floor. The MJ12 troopers were in a pile at the bottom of the narrow stairs that lead upstairs to the second floor, scrambling for their weapons. Young seized the opportunity and fired wildly at the heap of moving bodies.

Suddenly the second floor landing was pelted and peppered from underneath with bullets that bit and splintered through the thin floor. Three Majestic Twelve commandos stood next to the smoking crater left in the tiled floor by the explosive Man In Black firing upwards from their gauntlet mounted machine guns. Part of the balcony was disintegrated with the ferocity of the firepower.

Erin scrambled past Decker to aid Young, who was curled in a ball on the landing, hands over his ears protecting himself from the loud fiery chattering of the guns. She was screaming with anger, firing down at the approaching group of MJ12 troops who had managed to creep up to the brink of the second floor stairs. Decker still sitting in shock looked at his bloodied hands shaking rapidly. He heard a mumble and looked up, Erin was screaming and beckoning Decker with her hand, face red and mouth snarling. Decker picked himself up and staggered over. Young was back on his feet shooting at the MJ12 troopers, who were retreating back down the stairs awaiting the heavily armoured MJ12 commandos arrival.

Young ran down the landing and started to run up to the third floor. Decker did not follow he fiddled with his bag and pulled out a LAM, he activated it and hid it on the small wooden skirting board next to their door. Young ran back and pulled him away and they both went up a level. The other tenants were scattering back into their rooms, slamming and locking the doors tight, hysterically shrieking.

"IT'S CLEAR! MOVE! MOVE! MOVE!" the commandos shouted as they reached the second floor landing. "Proceed to the third floor." They instructed. A searing flash followed by a rippling boom shook the second floor rooms as the LAM was triggered. The door of room twenty-eight disintegrated firing out a lethal ball of splintering shards of shrapnel. A small ball of flame and smoke scorched the surroundings. The blast wave threw the oncoming MJ12 troops backwards and some were catapulted sideways through the posted balcony rail scattering their burnt carcasses across the lower floor. The shaking explosion overpowered the screams of the troopers. Young, Decker, and Erin ran up the tight cornering stairs and then across the upper floor.

Young stopped, stopping the other two as the third floor landing ended with an abrupt stop and was replaced by an elevator door. Young kicked in the door of the closest room, it was empty. They wedged the door with the portable television cabinet and entered the small bathroom. Young shot out the window, Decker and Erin looked at him. "GO!" Young screamed. Erin looked with fear and Decker with bewilderment.

"Climb out of a third storey window! You fucking mad?" Erin said.

"D'ya wanna get shot? Get out the window!" Young said seriously.

Decker looked out of the broken window, down the four-storey drop. Below was the back alleyway with the hotel dumpster directly underneath. Decker's legs shook intensely; he felt all the blood drain from his face and his brain kept reminding him about the rule of acceleration. Nine point eight, one, two, seven, four metres per second, the speed that Decker would accelerate to the floor. He kicked out the remaining glass from the frame and clambered out the window trying to find the top of the second floor window as a foothold.

He clambered down each floor stopping every time a sudden breeze whistled passed. His hands were getting sweaty and slippery and the strength was leaving his arms. Before his knew it the rules of acceleration were put into action. His breath left his body as he fell, landing backside first, crumpling into the overflowing garbage bags and cardboard boxes. It was like someone had taken a sledgehammer to his back, which was dotted with blood from the shards of broken bottle. Young cursed as he picked out his semi conscious body and flopped him over the edge of the bin; there was no time for sympathy. With one arm over Young's shoulder they hobbled down the alleyway and out onto the street.

They made it down the corner of the street, a saloon car raced down the road and screeched outside where the three hobbled. A shadowed face emerged from behind the driver's seat it was Jacques the arms dealer.

"Get in!" he said through the window of the vehicle. Young sighed in relief and Decker was placed carefully in the back. Henri Rota was also in the car; he was in the back with a sawn-off shotgun between his legs scanning outside through the window. Decker groaned on his lap clutching his neck trying to rub away the sharp, teeth grinding tingling. The car's tires span and two doors slammed shut as Decker's body jerked further back on the seats.

The car sped off. Jacques never spoke just focused on the road ahead, speeding down the tree-lined street that was obstructed with parked cars. "Is every one alright?" Jacques finally spoke, as they were a significant distance from the hotel. Young nodded, Erin also nodded, Decker groaned out a no. "Good" Jacques whispered, looking in the mirror at Decker. "Take the next left" Henri instructed, Jacques nodded. The trio were being taken back to a Silhouette hideout.

"Merde!" Henri screamed. There was a tremendous loud shattering sound and a tinny sound of automatic fire penetrating the metal doors coming from the right side. The car jerked and the tires screamed as it was pelted hard with gunfire. The car was flooded with fragments of glass and the smell of burning; Decker glanced up from his lying position, the streetlight pierced through the red bloodstain on the front windscreen. The saloon ploughed off the road and crunched into a doorway of a white building. The front airbags erupted cushioning the now dead Jacques and the passenger Young. Decker was hurtled into the backs of the front seats and lay in between the legs of Henri and Erin.

"Merde, MERDE! MERDE!" Henri cursed fiddling with the sawn-off shotgun. He fired two smoky shots off and opened the door flooding the car with night air. Erin dragged Decker by the feet out the car and then pulled Young out of the left side door. She screamed as she saw Young sitting back in his seat, his eyes blinking furiously on his powdered face. Jacque's body was slumped in the collapsed airbag bloodstained and dripping. The chattering of fire restarted as a sentry robot, a Bravo-3 Peacebringer, bounded down the pavement, firing from the revolving mini-gun attached to its torso, which hung between its bouncing legs.

The tri-toed machine showered the car again with a hail of fire. Young fell out of the door and rolled on the floor, Henri fire aimlessly at the robot, screaming at them to leave. The building the car had hit was a deserted 17th Century house; the wooden double doors had been removed on impact so the trio ran inside as Henri tried to slow down the oncoming robot with his shotgun.

The house was spacious as it had been stripped bare in a riot. The white washed walls were now covered in black damp mould and had been vandalised with spray painted graffiti. Decker was still trying to shake of the shock of the car crash and Erin had turned pale, her eyes were once again wide and alert. They climbed the stairs waiting halfway for Henri to retreat into the house.

As Henri turned towards to doorway, a screeching whistle overpowered the sound of gunfire. The car exploded in a bright orange flash engulfing Henri in a ball of flames. The vehicle was thrown through the air crushing Henri's burnt corpse against the far wall. The flames entered the house rolling across the ceiling in a small flickering surge. The remains of the twisted vehicle grinded to a halt and sat like a blackened, broken eggshell across the road, pumping out thick, black, petrol-reeking smoke. The high-pitched whistle was heard again as a rocket-propelled explosive exploded against the doorway, shattering the double doors into matchwood. The stone doorway cracked as another impact drove into it illuminating the darkened corridors of the house.

A dark black van pulled up outside across the road and Majestic Twelve troops jumped out on to the street. The squadron poured out in groups of four, black helmets shining in the streetlights and flames. The three of them retreated upstairs as the screams of the instructing commandos and the trampling of feet got closer and entered the house. Searching torches flickered on piercing through the banisters on the stairs seeking out the fugitives.

Once again they were on the run, their thumping footsteps echoed, pursuing them as they ran past rows of empty raided rooms. Some rooms contained brown, squashy mattresses of the numerous squatters and bags and fragments of waste. The house they were hiding in was a layered with spacious oak floored rooms, and had miles of corridors. It was a labyrinth.

Although they had only been running for a few minutes Decker's legs now started to burn, his hamstrings felt like they were about to tear open, but he carried on the adrenaline allowing him to ignore the painful signs from his body, which was trying to prevent injury. Erin and Young who were fitter were a few metres ahead, Erin leading the way. Lactic acid was flooding into Decker's old muscles slowing him down by causing painful burning aches, it was like someone was putting lead weights on his legs but panic kept him going.

The trio ran through the corridors of the old abandoned 17th Century house, clobbering down the long warped floorboards, running from room to room, in the blue nightlight. The MJ12 troops were not far behind their pounding footsteps echoing down the house like a chasing wind. Erin climbed the staircase running ahead. Young awaited Decker who was desperately panting burning breaths.

"COME ON DECKS!" He let Decker in front of him while he checked the passage behind them, and then with his one hand firmly in Decker's back forcefully pushed him up the staircase. Every stumble Decker made, Young hoisted him to his feet and pushed him further up the winding staircase. Erin was at the top looking over the wooden posted banister. She looked down the eternal flights and grabbed Decker's exhausted body and pulled him up the final steps. Young kicked the fire escape door inwards and they all entered the final stairwell.

The MJ12 footsteps got nearer, tailing the fugitives like a preying shark. They were halfway up the stairwell as the torch lights crept into the dark void at the bottom of the stairs. Shimmering helmets filled into the darkness looking like black crabs on a seabed. The torches lifted up and a volley of fire chattered upwards rattling through the metal staircase. Young returned fire from his pistol and the troops retreated to the safety of the doorway. Erin pushed the safety bar on the old fire door and the night air and noise burst into the musty stairwell. She ran out onto the roof. Decker grabbed Young away from the edge of the stairs and pushed him out the fire exit. Young beckoned him with his hand as Erin ran off into the distance. Decker fired down into the blackness then stepped outside.

As the night air hit Decker's lungs, he suddenly sensed something was not right, something was wrong, it niggled him in his mind. Decker felt dizzy, his head felt light and his vision was moving in slow motion. Young shouted muffled, Decker winced as he tried to work out what was said. Decker's tried to run but his legs were heavy. He could not breathe properly, a slight tightness grasped around the centre off his chest.

Decker tried to keep with Young but it was like he was being held back by something. Young dragged Decker behind an old chimneystack.

"Decker…………u…….kay?" Decker could see Young was shouting but it only sounded like a whisper. Decker took in a deep, exhausted breath and fell back against the chimneystack. A vomit taste rose in his mouth, polluting his tongue, as the bile flooded into his throat. Decker looked up at Young whose face had gone from a painful tired wince tp wide-eyed concern. Decker felt cold, sweat dribbled down the sides of his temples and itched his stubbly beard. Suddenly his left arm fell limp and the grip on his pistol loosened. The compressing pressure returned in his chest and his breaths turned wheezy. Decker's jaw locked and a sharp pain crawled across his back. Decker was having a heart attack. Young slapped his cheeks gently as Decker's eyes rolled around in their sockets.

"Go……leave me……" Decker gasped wincing form the pain. Erin had returned and she stared down at Decker with big tearful eyes. "GO!" Decker croaked wheezy. Young nodded and winked at Decker placing the gun in Decker's right hand. Young picked him to his feet and propped him against the chimney.

"Thanks…See you again my friend." Young whispered then turned and ran dragging the shaken Erin with him. Decker clutched his chest and threw his body around the corner. He slumped to one knee, aiming at the doorway and waited. Decker closed his eyelids and let the cold sweat dribble off his eyelashes. He waited. The ripping pain blurred his thoughts as he tried to concentrate at the doorway. He quickly glanced over his shoulder and saw two silhouettes in the distance on a lower roof running far.

"They'll make it." Decker thought. There was a squealing whistle Decker looked back at the doorway. Like a death angel a commando rose from in between the stairwell hovering in his vision.

"I have a visual lock." The MJ12 commando growled through its insect like visor. The two machine guns erupted from the rhombus shaped arms like fiery snake tongues. Decker fired two inaccurate shoots that embedded themselves into the door and sidewall. MJ12 troops crept up the stairwell hiding in the commando's shadow that continually fired at the locked target.

Decker's body was suddenly punchered and riddled from the mounted machine guns; the impact threw him down to the gravelled rooftop. Decker could not move, he lay there looking upwards at the sky in shock eyes. Then the pain hit, in his chest, a constant hammering pain, his heart had been ripped open from the bullet, Decker could hear the desperate rubbery beats thumping in his head. There was a fluttering in his chest like a deflating balloon, it was his cardiac muscles trying to squeeze blood through his severed pulmonary artery as his body went into a spasm. Panic hit instantaneously as the confusion became reality; he was dying. His chest heaved violently, not with breath but with the nervous sparks and jolty muscle spasms. He could not move or breath, tears rolled down Decker's wide doe eyes his mouth tried to scream out but his tongue had rolled back in his mouth and stopped any whimper.

Decker just lay there, body in a pulsating in shock. It was like someone had pulled the plug on his bodies system only his brain had not done it and it was trying to work out why nothing worked. The burning metallic blood rose quickly filling Decker's throat and mouth, his body was drowning itself. His eyes started trying to roll back. Decker heard muffled steps as the MJ12 troops stormed past. Dropping in and out of death Decker looked up at the padded leg of the MJ12 commando.

"He's bleeding out." Came the distant voice from behind the mask. "Terminating target."

A glaring flash, a fiery crack followed with a sharp electric crackle that shot through Decker's brain opening up the back of his head like someone putting their foot through a water melon. Decker felt no more sensations. He did not even have time to blink. His body lay on the roof; eyes still fixed open around a depressed fist sized hole. The grey hairs on what was left of his head blew gently in the breeze.

Decker was officially retired.

End.

Matthew Wragg


End file.
